“But, for now,” he continues, “it is worth noting that the European Server seems to be governed by a representative democracy of sorts. Each country has a single non-appointed leader, and all leaders vote together on how to act and what rules should be obeyed. In that sense, it isn’t much different from what we have.”

“Very interesting,” Bach says. “Since we don’t have enough information to be able to make any decisions as of yet, I suggest that you simply continue to spend time in Purgatory. Write as detailed reports as you can and we will continue this discussion at a later date. Now, onto our final few points…” I had hoped that something interesting would have been saved for last, but instead, she just starts talking about the possibility of making a server-wide survey, and then a bunch of budgeting and stuff. I don’t think anyone will fault me for zoning out completely.

And when I zone back in, my legs have regenerated again and Bach is slamming her gavel onto the table.

“Does anyone have any final points of interest to bring before the meeting?” Bach asks.

Moleman gently raises his hand. I look at him. She gives him a nod, and he speaks those fateful, horrifying words: “Today is Kitty’s birthday!”

Silence. Not even that—this is some sort of void of speech. Even if someone said something right now, the pure thickness of the nothingness that restrains us would have choked it to death and rendered it just as silent as everything else. My head slowly creaks to face Moleman. He’s got a big, innocent smile on his face. Like he couldn’t even consider the idea that maybe, just maybe, these people wouldn’t be all that interested in celebrating my birthday in particular.

“Uh,” Bach says, her narrowed eyes jumping between Moleman and me. “Congratulations?”

“Congratulations,” someone says lamely across the table.

“Congrats,” someone else says a second or so later. For almost half a minute, the word jumps like an obese toad between each mouth, falling off their tongues with increasing reluctance.

Ah. Hm. Hmm. I think, just maybe, that I had forgotten what it feels like to want to die. But now, I can remember it clearly. Maybe even more strongly than before.

The circle completes when Moleman turns to me, face beaming, and says, “Congratulations!”

And then silence descends once more, but everyone’s looking at me, expecting me to say something, maybe even hold a speech, so the responsibility for killing this murderous silence is on my shoulders alone. I look down at the table. “Th… thanks…” I mumble.

I am never again telling Moleman my birthday. This is the worst thing I have ever experienced.

Without saying a word, acting mainly just on instinct, I pull my newly recovered knees to my chest and go into the fetal position. Seeing everyone’s heads start to whirl around looking for me makes me feel a bit better. Hehe. They look silly.

“K—Kitty? Where’d you go?” Moleman says almost dejectedly, which makes my heart hurt a little, so I undo it and sit back down, normally. He turns back to me and scoffs a little at seeing me. “You sure do have some weird abilities, huh?...”

Yeah, I guess I do.

With me found and the final point of the day concluded, they adjourn the meeting.

“But, as promised,” Bach says just as I’m about to stand up, “lunch will now be served. On me.”

My heart skips a beat. I can feel my pupils dilate. Is this… Love…?

She brings forward a bunch of delicious food, and the other leaders also bring some stuff out, and soon the whole table is covered with yummy delicious exquisite actual real human food. It smells wonderful. Some of the food is even hot. Steaming hot. Not merely lukewarm since it’s so freshly killed. Hot. Truly, actually hot. There’s fresh bread, and butter, and sliced hams and smoked chicken to go on top, and a bowl of porridge, and sausage links, and jam, and pork brains in gravy, and a platter of fresh fruits, and a bowl of crisp salad, and a quarter of a wheel of cheese, and a bowl of oranges, and a plate of roast beef, and a small platter of biscuits, and a jug of fresh water, and a jug of juice, and a jug of milk, and a pot of tea that Moleman made using magic, and, and, and…!

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Moleman puts his hand on my trembling shoulder. “Hey, dude, you’re drooli—” His eyes widen slightly. “Are… are you crying?”

I hastily wipe at my eyes. “N—no. No, I’m just, it was just… the steam. The steam got—hic—into my eyes. That’s all.”

His mouth slowly closes. Then, he turns to the table full of food. Taking a platter from his inventory, he begins shovelling it on. Two of each at the very least, making five different sandwiches with all combinations of meat, cheese and jam, carefully balancing it all to fit as much food as humanly possible, the massive tower of meats and carbs and fruits and veggies leaning and wobbling with every new thing he adds. It’s gotten to the point where if he didn’t have his system and all his levels, he might not have been able to lift it at all. I stare at him, but more than that, I stare at the leaning tower of yummy.

Once it practically towers above the table and no one can help but stare, Moleman stands up, still holding his massive platter, grabs me by the wrist, and pulls me along as he makes for the door. Before he leaves fully, he glances back and smiles, saying, “Sorry, I forgot I made an appointment to eat lunch with someone else. I’m afraid I need to leave, but thank you all for today’s meeting!”

They stare at him.

“Yes, thank yo—” is about all I have time to hear from Bach before we’re out of the room and in the hallway. I look back at the room we’re leaving. What is even happening? Where are we going? If Moleman’s having lunch with someone else, why is he pulling me along? This is all very confusing.

After less than a minute of walking, Moleman pulls me back into the room we went to first, with the table and the two chairs. He puts down the platter in the middle of the table and sits down, sighing deeply as he does. I’m still standing, just above him, my face affixed in a permanent expression of my confusion. “What are you waiting for?” Moleman says lightly, with a simple smile on his face. He waves to the other chair. “Take a seat.”

Carefully, I sit down. I look around the room a little. “So, um…” I say. “When will your lunch appointment guy show up? Should I leave before then, or…?”

Moleman blinks at me. Twice. “You—,” and then, surprisingly, he breaks out into laughter. A simple, but loud laughter, pure and unhindered by anything at all. “Hahahah, hahaha, hahah… Oh, Kitty, you really are quite something, aren’t you?” He waves to the pile of food on the platter. “Go ahead, now. Dig in before it goes cold.”

“Huh?” The sound erupts from my throat without any real thought. “What do you mean? Wasn’t this for?...”

“If for you, birthday boy,” he says, smiling broadly. His eyes shine with mirth. “Just eat. If I’d left you in that meeting to eat, you wouldn’t have eaten a thing, right?” I make to protest, but he’s quicker to speak. “You would have wanted to, sure, but then you would have realised that if you ate, you would have done it like a beast, and the leadership would have been angered by your lack of courtesy, or whatever else. And that’s rule two. So, since you wouldn’t have been able to eat in any other way that wouldn’t break rule two, you would have chosen not to eat at all. That’s what would have happened. Am I right?”

“Well, uh, um,” I say, crossing my arms. “M—maybe? How should I know? It hasn’t happened yet!”

He smiles at me. “Your honesty is nice. I like it. Those other leaders are all full of hot air and none of them dare to actually stand up to Bach, but you don’t care. About courtesy, or anything else. It’s… refreshing.”

I frown at him. This feels awfully weird. “Um… okay? That’s kind of weird.”

He chuckles again, and then he gestures at the platter of food. “So, now that we’re away from them, you can eat to your heart’s content. All this food is for you. Eat with your hands if you want to. I don’t mind. I won’t be angered by something so petty as you acting like you usually do.”

I’m not entirely sure what he means by that, but… That jam sandwich there is looking mighty yummy. And the roast beef slices, too. And the fruit. And the biscuits. And the cheese. And the ham and the chicken. And the…

I glance up. He smiles at me and waves at the platter.

I can’t stop myself anymore. I feel my body become as if possessed by a demon. Throwing everything I am to the wind, I attack, and my mind fills with heaven.

Fork and spoon and knife is optional and not necessary when I have sharp claws and fingers and a mouth. I shovel it in wholesale. Like some sort of trash compactor, I simply push the food inside, chew, shed a tear or two, and swallow. More and more and more and more. I eat and I eat and I eat and I eat and I can’t recall a single moment in the past three months, or even the past six months, or maybe even the past eighteen years, when I have been this happy. I always thought crying tears of joy was a bogus concept, made up by people without the ability to sense their own emotions. But I get it now. I get it completely. I’m not sad, and yet, my tears just keep streaming down, minging into the food, making it slightly saltier, but still tastier than anything I’ve eaten in so long.

When the food starts running out, Moleman brings out more from his inventory. All kinds of food. Meats and potatoes and sauces and root vegetables and weird greens that must be from that fantasy world—Purgatory—and so many other heavenly delicacies, too.

I used to be a very picky eater. No onions, no carrots, no slimy boiled things, nothing too tough, but now, it all just goes down. I’m not even really thinking about it at all. Everything just tastes so delicious and it’s so easy to swallow that even if he had fed me his own hand I would gladly have eaten it. Brussel sprouts and broccoli and asparagus is yummy. How could I ever have believed the opposite?

But all good things must come to an end, and even though I still want to eat, even though my stomach still aches, I can’t physically eat any more. My stomach is bloated and my heart is beating maybe a little too fast for comfort. But the table is wiped clear. Not a speck of sauce or a single crumb has been left behind. It is done.

I look up at Moleman, breathing slowly. Suddenly, a sly glint appears in his eye.

“Hang on, I need to buy something from the shop.”

Dazed and stunned, I watch in silence as he opens the shop, and after just a few seconds…

A cake appears in the middle of the table. A princess cake.

“You do still have space for dessert, right?” he asks. I look up at him. I look back at the cake.

There’s always space for dessert.